Come Away, Death
by emiriecurie
Summary: "What else may hap to time I will commit. Only shape thou thy silence to my wit." Voldemort and his followers have lived through the Battle of Hogwarts, and Harry Potter is presumed dead. However, in the face of death, Hermione Granger must do everything to stay alive, become victorious, and find the truth. Based on Shakespeare's Twelfth Night.
1. Act I, Scene I

As Draco Malfoy entered the Great Hall, the castle was silent. The room's stone facade had crumbled, gargoyles falling from their place and cracking, and the floor littered with fallen snapped candles. The windows that once welcomed celestial, otherworldly sunlight were shattered, and a silver mist danced into the hall, filling the stone hall with an aura of terror. Draco should have been content seeing the castle like this. He should have been content to know that Albus Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix had been at last extinguished and that half-blood and Muggleborn refugees had started to go into hiding, relying on weak Portkeys and hiding places within the Muggle World. Any students that had dared to take on Voldemort had disappeared, fleeing the castle, and Harry Potter was presumed dead, killed by Voldemort in the Forbidden Forest.

Why couldn't Draco be happy with the ideals of his father, the ideals of the Death Eaters, the ideals of his Dark Lord? After all, he had been rewarded and praised greatly for his work in rallying the Slytherins, adding their great, almost oafish numbers to Voldemort's army. Due to his service, Draco had been praised, held to a high position as his father or the Dark Lord himself. The numbers under his control alone would be staggering to any general, and a dream to any one of his comrades. Yet under his stony facade, Draco realized that he had never wanted things this way.

The castle had lost its warmth, its glow extinguished with every fallen candle. Draco did not know if any of his professors were still alive, or if they were exiled with the students. He was afraid that if he walked into the dungeon, he would hear the screams of his classmates, writhing in pain due to the Cruciatus curse…

And then, when they were dead, their ghostly shadows would eternally walk the grounds, fixing their eyes on him, calling him _murderer, Death Eater, most notable coward, an infinite and endless liar, an hourly promise breaker, the owner of no one good quality…_

Draco wished that he disagreed with them.

He cursed himself as he slid into a chair where McGonagall had once sat at the beginning of term. There was no longer the same warmth in the Great Hall, now that Voldemort, the Dark Lord, and the Heir of Slytherin stood as its master. From now on, Hogwarts would be a different place, and Draco knew it.

Draco sighed to himself. "'Tis not so sweet now as it was before," he murmured before reluctantly joining the Dark Lord.

* * *

The Carrows stared out of the window of the Astronomy Tower, their beady eyes fixed on the empty grounds below. Almost nobody stalked the grounds after the battle, but the very few were all clad in black and silver masks, to protect their identities and flaunt their loyalty to the victorious Dark Lord. Draco watched them nervously, his face remaining cold and stony as many Death Eaters encircled him. He felt chills knowing that his aunt was practically laying over him, still delirious with glee after winning the battle. Now, she would not give him peace.

Bellatrix hung herself over Draco's chair, seated in the middle of the grim Astronomy Tower. "Will you go hunt, my lord?" she cooed mockingly, gazing as Draco as if he were a fragile creature, made of glass.

Draco groaned. "What, Bellatrix?" he drawled, bored. Signs of fatigue from the battle were still fresh on his pale face. Translucent blue skin had appeared under his silver eyes, making his face appear even more sunken and skeletal.

Bellatrix smirked. "Are there no Mudbloods roaming the grounds even still?" she said, baring her yellowed teeth. "Surely the Dark Lord would love to make sport of it."

Draco shuddered.

"What is it...Draco?" his aunt asked.

Draco was at a loss for words. What to say, that would let some few, remaining students live, instead of finding themselves at the wrong end of an Unforgivable Curse? Where could they even _try_ to hide on the grounds, which were crawling with werewolves and Snatchers? Surely, the only thing they could do was beg for the release of death, as that was the only thing they-

Draco cursed himself. Now, he even thought like the Death Eaters. An apple cleft in two was not more twin than himself and his father…

What was the only thing Draco could give to the hidden students? The quality of mercy.

"...but could they not be more effective here?" Draco started.

Bellatrix looked at him, her face quizzical.

"...I mean, putting them into the Dark Lord's ranks," Draco suggested. "The Dark Lord's goals will only be more easily achieved once his followers can grow."

Bellatrix smiled.

"For so long in my school years have I wanted them to follow the Dark Lord, but their denial enraged me. And ever since I became…" Draco looked at the serpent and skull on his forearm. "...a Death Eater, my desires, like fell and cruel hounds, e'er since pursue me."

His aunt beamed, patting him with a clawed hand. "Draco, your wisdom is exceeded only by your dueling competence." Her sudden maternal pride surprised Draco, making him wince.

The Astronomy Tower's wooden door swung open with a sudden creak. Standing there was a grotesque, vile, shadow of a creature that seemed neither man nor beast, but all bloodsucking monster and no heart. It was Fenrir Greyback. Bellatrix ran to him, happily. "What news?" she cackled.

Greyback grinned, his face contorting into a sickening smile, his broken fangs dripping with saliva and blood. "The Muggle world. All hidden there."

"Who?" Draco asked quietly and curiously.

"A batty professor hidin' some pups, one of 'em...a girl...mad."

Bellatrix grinned wickedly. "A Weasley?"

Greyback nodded. "She waters once a day their world round with eye-offending brine-all this to season a hero's dead love, which she would keep fresh and lasting in her sad remembrance."

Draco shuddered. Harry's death had brought Ginny Weasley to a dark place, fraught with grieg and madness. He felt his insides twitch, before suddenly growing firm. "O, she that hath a heart of that fine frame to pay this debt of love but to a...Potter?" he sneered. "We'll none of it."

Draco knew he had to bring them back to Hogwarts, so they might submit to Voldemort. He knew the guilt, the sorrow, would drive him to the point of madness, but these things could not affect him. He knew how fickle the Dark Lord was, easily finding displeasure in even his most loyal, so Draco could not fail.

His life depended on it.

* * *

 **Author's Note**

I am trying to follow the original plot of the play AS CLOSELY AS POSSIBLE, but I will be exchanging some comic moments within the original plot for other, more serious events. (This is not a funny fic. I expect all the tears.) Therefore, we are meeting our protagonist in the next chapter.

I strongly encourage reading _Twelfth Night_ to follow along with the fic. It's a great play and not a super long read. In the meantime, please leave a review (and a follow/fav if you're feeling philanthropic)!


	2. Act I, Scene II

Amidst all the chaos and anarchy she had just witnessed, only one thing was certain: Hermione Granger wanted to be dead.

So many students she had known and bonded with were dead, their bodies empty and lifeless, scattered throughout the ghostly halls. Those that hadn't been murdered had disappeared. Everything Hermione had loved about Hogwarts had been decimated, and any sign of Dumbledore's presence there had vanished as soon as the Death Eaters had arrived for their first attack. The Quidditch pitch was now a smoking ruin, attacked mercilessly by Fiendfyre. The only sanctuary in the castle had been the Room of Requirement, and even that had been emptied of all life and all students.

She knew that Harry Potter was dead, as the wails and shouts broadcasting his murder had spread throughout the entire castle before its abandonment. Surely, many of Hermione's friends were dead with him. She had not seen Ron, but feared for his life, tears streaming down her face when she remembered the many losses his valiant family had suffered. She buried herself in her shaking hands, feeling the helplessness wash over her.

For now, Hermione had hidden herself in the greenhouses, far from the Great Hall. For now, the maze of shattered glass was the least of her worries. Not even the courage of Gryffindor House could save her from the Death Eaters. Not even-

"Miss. Granger."

The voice made Hermione shake and shudder, for though it was so familiar, it struck her quickly with fear. "What is it...Professor Snape?" Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a long dark shadow extending deeper into the greenhouse, and her professor stood there, the new Headmaster of Hogwarts. Hermione felt her fingers wrap around her wand, while still afraid to look him in the face.

Snape sighed. "Very courageous of you, staying at Hogwarts when you know very well who has dominion here now."

"And what should I do at Hogwarts?" Hermione asked incredulously, standing up slowly, wary of the broken glass. "My friend-he is in Elysium."

Even mentioning Harry sent shivers down Hermione's spine. She had tried so desperately to push herself into a bewitched state of denial, but there was nothing she could do.

There was no way Harry James Potter, the Boy Who Lived, could be saved from death.

At last, she turned to Snape nervously. "Perchance he is not dead… what think you, Professor?"

Snape sighed. "Miss Granger, it is perchance that you yourself were saved."

"But-no!" Hermione shouted incredulously. "It can't-no, this doesn't make sense, why-"

"Miss Granger, it is already very well known that Mr. Potter is dead, and this blabbering will do nothing to change it," Snape began, his own proud voice silencing Hermione abruptly. "Anyone unfaithful to the Dark Lord who remains on the grounds will be tortured and killed."

Hermione furrowed her brow. "Then why are you still alive?" she cried, wiping at angry bloodshot eyes. She had known how Snape felt about Hogwarts, about Harry, about Voldemort, painting Snape to be an extremely contradictory portrait of faithful guiding professor and malicious Death Eater. Now, she did not know which Snape was telling her these things. "Does V-Voldemort know the things you thought about Dumbledore? About your students? About Harry?" she shouted.

"Miss Granger-"

Hermione pulled her wand from her pocket, holding it forward in her trembling hand. "Why are you not still a traitor in his eyes?"

Wordlessly, Snape whipped out his wand, disarming her, and ceasing her shouting. "Miss Granger, the Dark Lords has many spies crawling the grounds. It would be a _terrible_ mistake to lead them here with your _senseless_ shouting."

Hermione sniffled."But-"

"The secrets the Dark Lord doesn't know won't hurt him, and they just might let a traitor thrive under his rule."

Hermione stopped. "Who governs here?"

Snape sighed. "Only his closest, most vile Death Eaters, in nature as in name."

Hermione's grip on her wand grew more relaxed as she heard more. However, she still felt discomfort. "Where are the survivors of the...battle?" She almost feared to learn who had survived the battle, for they would have to live on without so many others.

"Impossible to say," he drawled. "Many fled the grounds as Potter was pronounced dead. Some went to the Muggle world, where they might abjure the company and sight of wizardkind."

"Oh, that I might join them," Hermione murmured. "And might not be delivered to the world, till I had made my own occasion mellow, what my estate is."

"That were hard to compress," Snape said slowly. "They are hidden all over our world and the Muggle World, taking Muggle names, even concealing their wands."

"So that they might not be found?" Hermione whispered.

Snape nodded. "As we speak, Voldemort's new world crawls with Snatchers and werewolves, searching for and killing Muggles, disloyal half-breeds, and…" His beetle-black eyes rested on Hermione. "Muggleborns."

"Then surely, there is some way you can help me in Voldemort's world!" Hermione suggested. "Conceal me what I am, and be my aid for such disguise as haply shall become the form of my intent. I'll serve this...Dark Lord," she said finally. Before Snape could hesitate, Hermione wrapped her gentle fingers around a shard of broken glass.

She felt blood dripping from her palm as she cut her wavy curls, watching them fall to the ground like autumn leaves. As she progressed, her hair became like that of a boy, short and choppy, stopping at the ear. "Please, Professor," Hermione pleaded. "What else may hap to time I will commit. Only shape thou thy silence to my wit."

Snape appeared almost amused by her actions, watching the girl disguise herself, slipping a black cloak over her slender frame. "I swear on my life," he whispered, before Hermione slipped out of the greenhouse and onto the grounds, fully at the disposal of Lord Voldemort.

* * *

 **Author's Note**

Mmkay, I'm getting all excited about this fic now. I've got the majority of the plot outlined, and I'm looking forward to writing it.

The next chapter is going to be sad. Like, super sad. Like, I don't-wanna-write-it-because-then-the-onion-ninjas-shall-appear sad. So get excited.

Leave a review! And a follow/fav!


	3. Act I, Scene III

George Weasley flailed his arms over the ebony stairwell at Number 12 Grimmauld Place, blankly staring into the closed eyes of countless house-elf heads. The ebony stairwell where he stood was dingy, silent, and covered in dust. He did not feel warm, despite the warm fires in the kitchen. He did not feel relieved, even though it had been days since he had seen the battlefield that was Hogwarts. He did not feel whole, after seeing his home, school, and family destroyed.

George's brown eyes lazily glanced down to the rooms below, then to his left, hopeful that another identical figure would be there to comfort him or crack a joke. Nobody was there. He sighed softly before looking down again.

Now, where was his reassurance? Where was his relief? The last George had seen his parents, they were crying over Fred's silent body. George hoped that they had been able to flee the battlefield safely, finding refuge elsewhere far from the school.

The last he had seen Bill and Charlie, they were tending to the wounded in the Great Hall while flinging jinxes across the room. George wished that he could have shared their valor on the battlefield, but he had done all he could.

The last he had seen Ron, he was standing with Harry Potter, the Boy who Lived. But that did not matter. Now, Harry was dead, and Ron was missing with him. George seemed to know every detail of Harry's death, for he had constantly heard Ginny mumbling them between choked sobs. If he pressed his ear closely enough to the wall, he could hear his sister's cries in the other room, drowning out even Mrs. Black's screaming portrait.

 _I have of late,—but wherefore I know not,—lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercises,_ George thought to himself, brooding. _Indeed, it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory; this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire,—why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours-_

George groaned loudly, hoping there would be a response, a reply, even a punishment. But he was met with his own echo, and nothing more. It was infuriating, nothing like the constant energy of the Burrow, with his family constantly dashing up and down its creaky stairs, sending shining brass kettles flying across the room while Errol flopped around the rafters. George knew his family would never be the same again, and neither would his home, now a smoldering ruin in the middle of the countryside.

George sighed, exasperated. "What a plague means my sister," he mumbled, "to take the death of her...hero thus?"

At last there was a response to George's bemoaning, as Professor McGonagall stepped from the other hall, angry and in a rage. "Mr. Weasley?" she cried incredulously.

He shrugged. "I am sure care's an enemy's life."

McGonagall's face grew more twisted with rage and fatigue. "By my troth, Mr. Weasley, you must come in earlier o' nights," she dictated. George could see her twitchy eyes fixed on the dark bags under his own, his face distorted by battle and many sleepless nights. "Your sister takes great exception to your ill hours."

George flopped back onto the banister, rolling his eyes. "Well, let her except, before being excepted."

McGonagall sighed, letting her fatigue and exasperation finally show itself. "Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits of order," she suggested.

George knew that she would try to continue and mentor him, as she had done within the corridors of Hogwarts. But George had already seen had already seen the brutality of the world, even if he had spent years hiding away from it. His own store with Fred had been a joyous hiding place within Diagon Alley, but now even that had been destroyed, and his entire world had been blanketed in darkness, with no happiness, no life, no-

"Why?" George shouted, at last, addressing neither McGonagall nor himself, but the new world order within which he lived. "I know Ginny will alway stay like this, weeping and-" he began proudly, "-but let me go after them, the Death Eaters!" he finally concluded in a confused, maddening bravery.

"Mr. Weasley!" McGonagall tried to extend a calmly shaking hand to his broad shoulder.

"-And let them try to kill me too!" George cried, before stopping, slowly, understanding the power of his words. He shrugged. "He that is well hanged in this world needs to fear no colors."

McGonagall finally grabbed ahold of George's shoulder before she looked him sternly in the face. "Do you know how many people died at Hogwarts?" she asked, her voice shaking slightly with every word. "How many Gryffindors?"

George did not respond. He could not respond.

"It is so important that you have lived, George," McGonagall said, stammering. "Had you not plucked your sister from the castle as you fled-"

George nodded. He knew McGonagall was proud of his brave actions in the past days.

"-but this is certainly not becoming of you!" McGonagall exclaimed at last, before looking at him sternly. "I know your brother's...death has left you a state of insatiable mourning. But you need to show strength for your sister, for us-"

"-for anyone left?" George offered.

McGonagall nodded quickly before her ancient face cracked a subtle smile. "Think of the virtue that you might show. Tut, there's life in 't, man." As soon as George had looked away, she was gone, no doubt ascending to the higher floors of the near-silent House of Black.

Alone again in his thoughts, George began thinking to himself about McGonagall's many words. He wished he could constantly be as strong as she described, but his own confidence failed him. Who would have the strength to do so after such a battle?

 _Who would bear the whips and scorns of time, The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of_ despis'd _love, the law's delay, The insolence of office, and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make_  
 _With a bare bodkin? who would these fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life,_  
 _But that the dread of something after death,— The_ undiscover'd _country, from whose bourn No traveler returns,—puzzles the will, And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of?_

George knew that he would find the strength to defy the stars, the past, and his newfound enemies who crawled the corners of Voldemort's world. He had the strength to do so.

His bravery would let him endure it.

* * *

 **Author's Note**

When I first read the Harry Potter books, I connected to the Weasley twins almost immediately because I, too, am one of a pair of redheaded twins. (I loved the Weasleys in general, but the twins were my favorite). I particularly enjoyed reading about their misadventures at Hogwarts, and I got so stupidly excited when they fled Hogwarts to open their joke shop.

Because of all this, Fred's death was the hardest for me to take.

I've always wondered how this might have affected George and the other characters, because we don't know a whole lot about what happens to everyone directly after the Battle of Hogwarts. Therefore, I got to take advantage of some creative license in the subplot of this fic.

George also waxes into _Hamlet_ a LOT. In this instance, he has a lot in common with the Prince of Denmark (being extremely unable to cope with death and the future), so I temporarily abandoned _Twelfth Night_ so that I might crack into everyone's favorite soliloquies. However, George is still going to be mostly based on Sir Toby, with McGonagall being based on Maria.

More scenes coming soon. Get excited! Don't forget to leave a review!


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